“It wasn’t my intentional aim to furnish laughable amusement,” said Detective Gubb seriously. “What did Mrs. Canterby say when she asked for ink and you didn’t have none?”
“She didn’t say nothin’,” said Mr. Dusenberry, “because she never asked me for no ink, never! She don’t trade here. That’s all about Mrs. Canterby.”
The Correspondence School detective had been leaning on the show-case, and with the shrewdness of his kind had let his eyes search its contents. In the show-case was writing-paper of the very sort the Anonymous Wiggle letters had been written on—also envelopes strangely similar to those that had held the letters.
Mr. Gubb smiled pleasantly at Mr. Dusenberry.
“I’d make a guess that Mrs. Canterby don’t buy her writing-paper off you neither?” he hazarded.
“You guess mighty right she don’t,” said Mr. Dusenberry.
“And maybe you don’t recall who ever bought writing-paper like this into the case here?” said Mr. Gubb.
“I guess maybe I do, just the same,” said Mr. Dusenberry promptly. “And it ain’t hard to recall, either, because nobody buys it but Miss ’Tunie Scroggs. ’Tunie is the all-firedest female I ever did see. Crazy after a husband, ’Tunie is.” He chuckled. “If I wasn’t married already I dare say ’Tunie would have worried me into matrimony before now. ’Tunie’s trouble is that everybody knows her too well—men all keep out of her way. But she’s a dandy, ’Tunie is. They tell me that when Hinterman, the plumber, hired a new man up to Derlingport and ’Tunie found out he was a single feller, she went to work and had new plumbing put in her house, just so’s the feller would have to come within her reach. But he got away.”
“He did?” said Mr. Gubb nervously.